


MJ, I Miss You

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: A Bit Cliche, But cute!, F/M, Proclamations of love, cheesy lol, he is #emotional, literally its so obvious, mj is #naive, mj is CLUELESS abt peter's love for her, peter is a #sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: peter gets bored in class and writes mj notes. she keeps the special ones in a locked drawer for safe keeping.





	MJ, I Miss You

_ 12/8/18 _ _  
_ _ Dear, MJ-- I miss you. Yeah, you’re a foot away from me, but Mr. Wright really gets on my nerves. I can’t talk to you without him yelling at us, and I can’t text you without him yelling at me! Can you believe that? Anyways, you never told me why you didn’t text me back last night. Not that I needed a response or anything, or that I was waiting for it. Because I wasn’t. I went to bed at a normal time, promise. But, what do you want to do Friday night? Please say roller skating. Ned said no, but I love going with you. Your hair blows in a wind like those models, but no giant fan and no unneeded Photoshop, and you smile and laugh so hard I think your jaw is going to break. It’s a good sight. I should record you one time. --Peter _

 

Peter wrote Michelle notes in class.

 

In first hour, where she sat in front of him, he’d lean forward in his desk so that he could whisper in her ear, “You’ve got mail,” or some other cheeky phrase, and would place the note on her desk. Most of the time, they were written on a torn-off corner piece. They were a sentence or two long, and a few times, even just a short phrase. However, on some days, he’d write her whole letters. This was when he was bored, and felt like not paying attention. 

 

These were the letters Michelle cherished. She kept almost everyone he gave her, even the one that just said “ _ Hi _ ”--she kept them in a woven that was on her desk. Every time Peter came over, he’d look through it, frowning when he saw some were missing. “What happened to the one I wrote today?”

 

And Michelle would bullshit her way through it, hiding her face so Peter wouldn’t see her obvious tell. “Shit, I must’ve lost it. I’m sorry, Peter.”

 

“Guess I’ll write you two tomorrow, then,” he’d smile, a tooth poking out, making Michelle’s heart beat faster.

 

Really, though, Michelle kept them locked in her bedside table. Locked for two reasons: A) If her mother knew about those letters, those somewhat personal and very much blush worthy letters, she’d want to read them all. She’d ask her, a million times, if Peter was her boyfriend. She’d ask if Michelle  _ wanted _ Peter to be her boyfriend, if  _ Peter _ wanted to be her boyfriend. Her answers would be no, yes, and why would he want that? And, B) If Peter knew, he’d probably think it to be creepy. He’d probably make fun of her. He’d probably stop writing them. Keeping them all together in a basket  _ away _ from her bed was whatever-- reading a certain few over and over again, in your  _ bed _ , was weird. Michelle knew that.

 

They were a source of comfort for her. When she was too stressed or upset to sleep, she’d read them to calm herself down. Or, on a Saturday afternoon when Peter had left town on Thursday, Michelle would read them because she missed him.

 

And although Michelle had fallen hard for him, she knew Peter didn’t like her that way. For months their sophomore year, he was in love with Liz Allen, and he’d get these puppy dog eyes when he talked to her, or thought about her, or talked  _ about _ her. He’d blush when she was around and would say wild things to get her attention. Peter asked Liz to homecoming. In their junior year, when homecoming rolled around only a few weeks ago, Peter didn’t ask Michelle. And he didn’t get those puppy dog eyes. He didn’t blush when Michelle was around. He didn’t say stupid things to her.

 

And it was stupid, too, because Michelle had picked out a dress for homecoming. She went to the store with her mom, masking it as “Oh, my cousin is getting married in a few months, I need a dress.” She thought about what colors would go the best with Peter’s complexion, she thought about what would make his heart stop, and her $150 dress never saw the light of day. The wedding got canceled. And Peter walked up to her a week before homecoming, an actual expensive box of chocolates in his hand that almost made her knees fail, and he said, “Ned is going to homecoming with Betty, so I don’t have any plans. Did you want to have a movie night at my house? Just the two of us. Oh, May wanted you to have these, she felt bad because she didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

 

Michelle had no right to be pissed, but she was. She took the box of chocolates and slammed her locker door, and walked alone to history. Peter gave her three notes, all of them containing the phrase:  _ I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m sorry, MJ _ . The last one was half a page, begging her to go to his house homecoming night. “ _ We can watch your Sci-Fi movies and I can make you dinner. May won’t be home! You can even sleepover, if you want. The top bunk is all your’s. Even though it would’ve been your turn to sleep on the couch, but since Ned isn’t going… _ ” 

 

Michelle’s fantasies had gotten the better of her, even though they failed her with homecoming. Maybe, she thought, since they were all alone, he’d make a move. Maybe she could be confident for once and make a move herself. Maybe he’d invite her to sleep in his bed with her. Maybe--

 

And, nothing. The night breezed by. They watched her favorite Sci-Fi movies on the couch, and the most Peter touched her was when she got ballsy and stretched her legs out the whole length of the couch, and he placed his hand on top of her leg for half a moment. Oh, and for a millisecond, when they were brushing their teeth, Peter got the hair out of her face. Sure, it lit those nerves on fire, but when Michelle crawled into the lonely top bunk, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

 

Peter complimented her to make her feel better about herself. The comments about her pretty hair, or her nice looking nose, or radiant smile--they were all to boost Michelle’s view of herself. They didn’t hold any real weight, not on his side, at least.

 

And as long as she kept receiving them, she was fine with it. 

 

Well-- she’d pretend to be fine with it.

 

_ 12/13/18 _

_ MJ, is it possible to feel the world stop moving? Like, you’re so bored, that you can actually sense the Earth stopping its rotation. Or that you made the Earth stop rotating with your mind powers. I don’t know. That’s me right now. I’m so bored. I’ve counted how many times you’ve looked up from your paper to look at the board (hey, bored, board. Funny.) and when you do that, your hair bounces like, four times. When did you dye a strip of your hair red? I really like it. It suits you. You’re very firey, in a good way. Also, red is my favorite color. I know it’s the color of war and stuff but isn’t it the color of love? You know, V-Day and everything. If it’s not, it should be. And the color of beauty. Then it’d suit you perfectly.--Peter (p.s. You’ve looked up at the board seventeen times. You think you would’ve memorized it by now.) _

 

Peter took full advantage of whenever Michelle’s parents weren’t home. He didn’t raid their liquor cabinet and rob them blind, but he did go into Michelle’s room--which was very off limits with her mother around. He’d look around for secrets, it seemed, and new additions. Peter was disappointed almost every time.

 

On the seventeenth, with a new letter Michelle would have to put in her bedside table, she instructed him to wait in the living room. If she didn’t do it right that instant, she probably would’ve forgotten until midnight, and no matter how much Peter and those letters meant to her, there was no way Michelle was getting up from her warm bed in the middle of the night.

 

She unlocked her bedside table and slid the new item in, promptly closing it. When Michelle went to lock it, she heard footsteps. 

 

“What are you doing?” Peter inquisited.

 

Michelle jumped, and screamed, “You dick! I told you we were doing our homework in the living room.”

 

“I got bored,” Peter shrugged. Michelle locked the drawer and put the key behind her back. “What are you hiding? What’d you just do?”

 

“Nothing. God, you are so--” 

 

He walked up to her, and with all the strength he had that she did not, Peter grabbed her wrists. He was laughing the whole time, because Michelle was trying to squirm away, because her fears of him seeing her  _ Peter drawer _ were becoming very real.

 

_ Peter drawer _ . Why did she think that was a good idea? He was nosy, he was sneaky, and above all, impatient. If he suspected something, he would bounce on it.

 

“Oooh, a key. You fucking liar,” he gasped, pointing towards the table. “You said you lost the key! You said you never put anything in it. MJ, c’mon, get out of the way. I’ll move you.”

 

“I’ll punch you,” Michelle defended. But in one swift move, Peter picked her up by her legs and tossed her onto her bed. (In any other situation-- _ hot _ , but in this one, it felt life threatening.)

 

“Nice left hook,” he mocked. Peter fumbled with the key for a minute before putting it in and turning it completely, and when he opened it, his face contorted. “What are these?”

 

She crashed backwards onto her bed. “You’re so daft.”

 

He opened one, the one from that morning, and then another, and she could hear his delighted gasps all the way through. “I thought you lost these. Oh my God! I poured my heart into this one, and you told me you accidentally threw it away. Why are these locked away?”

 

“They’re my favorite,” Michelle begrudgingly explained.

 

“So you lock them in the dark?”

 

“No-- God, you don’t get it. These are the ones that you compliment me a lot, or-or make me laugh, or make me think-- Never mind. Just put them back.”

 

Peter did so, and then sat next to her on the bed. “Make you think what?”

 

“Can we not do this right now? We have homework to do and chem is really kicking my ass a-and you’re so good at chem, so I need your help.” She went to stand up, but Peter grabbed her elbow and tugged her down.

 

“Make you think what, MJ? I’d like to improve the rest of my notes so they can also be locked away. An important girl deserves important messages, every day.” That stupid fucking smile. The ‘ _ Sorry, I don’t like you, but your my best friend _ ’ smile. She got that smile every day.

 

“They make me think--” She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. “God, okay, I’ll say it. They… They give me hope.” Michelle paused.

 

“Hope that you can think of yourself the way I do? Hope for more notes? Hope that one day you can write something as awesome as I do?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “No, Peter. Hope for… Us.”

 

Again, his face scrunched, confused. “Us?”

 

Michelle felt her stomach tightened, and her face became hot. “Us. ‘U’ ‘S’ us. The way you talk about me in those letters-- If anybody else read them, they’d think you were in love with me or something. And, I don’t know, it’s hard not to fall for someone when-- When you read those words every day. But… but you don’t feel that way. And-- and it’s cool. Really.”

 

He loudly gulped, rubbing his thumb repeatedly on his palm. “MJ--”

 

“No,” she said, standing up, and this time, Peter didn’t grab her. “We have homework to do.”

 

“ _ MJ _ ,” he repeated, more sternly. He chased her to the door and moved in front of her before she could go though. His hands caught her waist. “I thought-- God, I--”

 

“Spit it out,” Michelle screamed. She couldn’t prolong the pain.

 

Peter bit his lip, and his eyes trailed all over her face. “I--” he whispered, “I have liked you since last March, MJ. Remember, that night we went to Olive Garden and everyone’s food came except mine, and then it never came, and you were the only one who cared enough to say anything? It’s a little thing, but it meant a lot. And then I walked you home, bought you hot chocolate, and it started snowing, and you laughed at my stupid jokes.”

 

“I remember,” Michelle wistfully said, nodding.

 

“And then it started raining, so we went to hide in a convenience store just to see if it’d die down soon, and your hair was wet and you smiled more than I had ever seen you smile before and it just made me realize how much I-I cared about you.” Peter, as he talked, stared down at his feet and absentmindedly moved her hips in motion with his body. Back and forth, Michelle swayed with and swooned at his words.

 

“You never acted like you liked me,” she stated, still in disbelief.

 

“ _ You’re _ the daft one. I thought I was making it obvious!”

 

“Not obvious enough.”

 

“Well--”

 

Michelle, in the middle of Peter’s sentence, hastily placed her hands so that they cradled his head and placed her lips against his. It was gentle, and long, and Michelle had never kissed anyone before so she didn’t know if she was even doing it right-- but then Peter kissed back; one of his arms hugged her waist close, making it so that their bodies were completely pressed together as the kiss progressed, and his other hand moved up into her hair, pulling just ever so slightly. 

 

“Peter,” Michelle breathed out. 

 

He broke the kiss, and leaned his forehead against her’s. Peter was out of breath, and he blew hot air against her face as he tried to catch it. “What? Did I bite your lip?”

 

“You should be my boyfriend,” she simply stated, her mind numb from the influx of oxytocin being released into her brain.

  
“Yeah, I should.” Peter kissed her again, the imprint of his growing smile pressed against her face. 

 

_ 12/14/18 _

_ MJ, last night was fun, but I have a few suggestions. (Oh, don’t let anyone read this, btw. Put it in your drawer, it might get “dirty.”) I liked it when you bit my neck, even though I reacted otherwise, so please keep doing it. I’m assuming I was too rough? I’m really sorry. I don’t know my own strength. I hope you don’t have a bald spot now. Also, please teach me how to take a bra off so it doesn’t kill the mood again. I’m sorry about that, too. And I’m sorry for apologizing so much last night, and in this letter. Sorry. Do you want to come over after rollerskating? I can sneak you in my window so May doesn’t know. Or, you can just come in the old fashioned away. --Peter (But wouldn’t it feel cool to sneak in? Like Romeo and Juliet! Except I’d love it if you stayed alive.) _

**Author's Note:**

> love the creativity of the title!!! anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed. i love writing cheesy shit <3


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